A Manager's Tale
by Jackson Rippner
Summary: You think you know all about me, don't you? You think you've got it all figured out. Well, the story's far from over. I'm back and this time, I'm taking what I want. If you think you can stop me, you're dead wrong and in my world, that's just plain dead.
1. Chapter 1

By now, everyone knows the story. An evil terrorist organization attempted to assassinate a beloved US official but was thwarted by the heroic Lisa Reisert, ordinary citizen and hotel manager. Lisa and her father put a couple of bullets into the evil assassin who's carted out in an ambulance, never to return. End of story, right? Think again.

You see, stories are never black and white like that. Good versus evil and good always triumphs over evil in the end. In my world, however, the line between evil and good is never clearly drawn and sometimes the "bad guys" win. The world doesn't play fair, you see. Kids go hungry and die, good politicians get corrupted, innocent women and children are wounded and killed in war zones. Like I said before, sometimes bad things happen to good people. It's all just a matter of when and where.

I could go on, but you get the picture. At the end of the day, the world needs a hero. Someone who is willing to step up to the plate and take one for the team. The media found their darling in Lisa Reisert. For weeks after the incident, Lisa's face was everywhere. I'm surprised they never put her on a box of fucking Wheaties. Eventually, the hoopla died down and everything went back to some semblance of normalcy. Lisa went back to work, her dad became even more over-protective, and the self-described "manager" succumbed to his wounds and died in the hospital. All's well that ends well, right? Except that, I didn't die in the hospital. No, I'm very much alive. Lisa believes that I'm long dead, of course. But, hey, we've all got our secrets, right? Lisa certainly had hers. What Lisa doesn't know is that I've got some secrets of my own. I've waited a long time to tell her my secrets. I think the time is just about right, now.

I know what you're thinking. You think you've got me pegged, don't you? The little woman kicked my ass, wounded my male pride and I'm headed back for revenge, right? I've never been overly concerned with what other people think, but in this case, I think I'll go ahead and clear up this little misunderstanding. It's not revenge that I want. Four years ago when I followed Lisa to her dad's house, intent on finishing the job, I wanted revenge. I freely admit it. I was enraged beyond all reason that day. Who knows what I would have done if her dad hadn't shot me? I like to think sanity would have prevailed, but I can't say for sure. The point is I never got the chance to find out. Joe Reisert shot me, collapsing my lung and nearly killing me; effectively putting me out of commission for a good long while. My fury eventually evaporated and I moved on. At least, I thought I did. As it turns out, I haven't quite moved on, yet.

Clarity of thought is something only achieved through time and distance. I've put four years and countless miles between Lisa and myself. I've definitely achieved clarity of thought on the matter. No, it's not revenge I want. It's Lisa. To say there's a connection would be a gross understatement. The connection is nearly inhuman and absolutely terrifying in its intensity. Is it love? No, I don't think so. I suppose it could be, but I've never loved anyone other than myself, so I'm hardly an expert on that subject. It's more like a need. A need so strong that you're willing to do anything, risk anything, to fill it. Stronger than life or death. In fact, I'm fairly certain that if Lisa were to die, I would die very soon thereafter. And vice versa.

So, now you've gone from thinking I'm a psycho killer out for revenge to thinking I'm a crazy freak who's obsessed with what he can't have. Let's talk facts, then. Fact: Lisa's father died of a massive heart attack two years ago. I was in Afghanistan when it happened. I knew it, the minute it happened, though. I felt it. Lisa was with him when he died. They'd just had dinner and he was helping her clean up when he reached up and clutched at his chest. The plates he'd been holding crashed to the floor, shattering. Lisa ran to him, grabbing him just before he fell and he took her down with him. A shard of the shattered plate ended up embedded in Lisa's right thigh, but she didn't even realize it until later, at the hospital when a nurse asked her what had happened to her leg. I saw these things happening. It was as if I were there.

Of course, I had to verify that everything had happened exactly as I saw it. I used my connections and learned all I could. Every bit of information I obtained corroborated what I already knew. Still not convinced? How about this? For months after the red eye flight, Lisa dreamed about me. At first, they were nightmares. She was afraid of me, terrified that I would come back. Eventually, though, they turned into something else. Something even more terrifying to her. In her dreams, I became her secret obsession. It got so bad she went to a therapist, looking for some reason to be having these dreams, these thoughts about me, of all people. Therapy didn't help, though. Eventually the phrase "Stockholm's Syndrome" drove her out of therapy for good. I _know_ these things as if I were watching them on a television screen like a movie or somthing. And you wanna know something? It scares the shit out of me. There aren't many things in life that scare me, but this, this is different. This is crazy. It's impossible, but it's happening all the same. I can't be absolutely sure, but I think the connection is just as strong on her side as it is on mine. Sure, she thinks I'm dead, which confuses her all the more as to the meaning of these feelings, but I'm fairly certain she feels it just as strongly.

I don't know, maybe I am crazy. Maybe I hit my head a little too hard after Joe Reisert shot me. At this point, I'm willing to consider most anything. One thing I'm sure of, though. It's definitely time for Lisa and me to meet again. She can feel how close I am. She's terrified and confused. Oh, but I can feel her longing. I can hear her calling my name in her sleep. Don't worry, Lisa. I'm coming. I'm coming to claim what's mine.


	2. Chapter 2

She doesn't know that I'm watching her, but she can feel it. It's there in the tense set of her shoulders; it's in that little line that appears in her forehead as she scans the faces of passing strangers, searching for some clue, some reason for her uneasiness. She hasn't changed much. I knew that, of course, but somehow it still surprises me to find that she's still a loner, still keeping everyone at arm's length. If I were a compassionate person, I suppose I'd feel some sort of sympathy for her. Hell, maybe on some level, I do.

I've been here in Miami for a couple of weeks now, watching her. I've been close enough to touch her on several occasions. I've held back, but the waiting is over. Our reckoning has come, Lisa.

Getting into her house is surprisingly easy. There's no alarm system, no vicious dog waiting to tear me apart. Just an empty, sparsely decorated house, coldly uninviting. I wander from the foyer into the living room, taking in the white overstuffed sofa and loveseat. My foot steps echo hollowly on the hardwood floor, the sound loud and jarring in the stillness. Several framed photographs line the mantelpiece over the austere fireplace. Lisa and her dad, smiling for the camera; Lisa , her mom, dad and older brother on the occasion of someone's birthday if the cone-shaped hats are any indicator; Lisa's mother and her new husband standing stiffly with drinks in hand, smiles plastered on their inebriated faces. My eyes fall on the last picture and I linger there. It's a picture of Lisa and Cynthia together, apparently at some office party. Cynthia is smiling broadly and, possibly, a little drunkenly, but Lisa is looking past the camera, a small smile on her lips, almost as if planted there by mistake. There is something so poignant about the look in her eyes, that haunted look that I am captivated, unable to take my eyes from her face. Quickly, I flip the frame over and slide the photo from behind the glass. I stare at the picture for a moment longer, then slide it into the inside pocket of my jacket. I replace the empty frame on the mantelpiece and continue through the darkening living room to the hallway.

Lisa's bedroom is the last door on the right and her scent lingers here more than anywhere else in the house. I step into the room that I've seen in my head so many times and it is exactly as I pictured it. A large sleigh bed dominates the room, its dark wood gleaming in the waning sunlight. I walk to the bed and run my hand over the soft white comforter, breathing in the smell of her, imagining her here, in this bed. It's nearly too much and suddenly I'm angry. Angry at myself, angry at her. I didn't ask for this mindfuck! Nothing in this world pisses me off faster or more thoroughly than knowing I'm not in control. My fucking life has been one long exercise in control and now this! My hand fists and I want to destroy this room, this sanctuary of hers. I want to throw the dresser on its side, spilling its contents and listen as the glass breaks. I grasp the curved footboard of the bed and watch my knuckles turn white. Glancing up, I catch my reflection in the mirror of her bureau. My face is contorted in rage and my eyes are cold. I close my eyes and breathe deep slow breaths until I have myself under control again. I will not allow my emotions free reign.

When I have mastered my temper, I walk around the bed and sit in the large wingback chair by the window. I glance at my watch. She should be here most any time. I relax and gaze out the window, my mind going once more to this strange, inexplicable connection between Lisa and me. Even now, if I concentrate, I can almost hear her thoughts. No, not 'hear', precisely, but I can feel her emotions. She's tired, frustrated and on edge, though she isn't quite sure why. For perhaps the millionth time, I wonder how this is possible and why it's happening to me, of all people. And, what of Lisa? Does she feel it too? I know that she feels _some_ of it and I suspect she feels all of it, but I don't know for sure.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Lisa's key in the door. I sit up in anticipation, excitement suddenly coursing through my body. I stand and make my way softly to the door, positioning myself just inside and slightly behind the door so that she won't see me when she walks in. What the hell is wrong with me? My hand is shaking, for fuck's sake! My temper flares again, but I force it down, willing myself to remain calm and still. I can hear her footsteps coming down the hallway toward the bedroom. She steps through the door and, reaching to the left, flips on the light switch. Two more steps and she's in the bedroom completely. I move in behind her, placing myself between her and the door. She stops, halfway to the bed, her back straight, shoulders stiff.

"Hello Leese." I say, my voice low. She whirls, her eyes going wide with terror. Her fear sweeps over me in waves and I watch as she backs up, her mouth opening and closing as if she wants to scream, but can't seem to make the sound.

"What…oh my god….oh my…." She gasps and one hand grasps at her chest, the other reaching out for the footboard of her bed for support. Her breath is coming in short bursts and I know she's going to hyperventilate if she keeps it up.

"Easy, Leese," I say, taking a step toward her. "I'm not here to…"

The words never leave my mouth because she begins to shriek. I rush to her and grab her by her shoulders, shaking her roughly. Shit, not that hard! "Lisa, listen to me!" I slam one hand over her mouth, cutting her off mid-shriek. "I'm not here to hurt you! Do you understand?" Her eyes are wild as she stares at me. I wonder, briefly, about her sanity as I give her another shake. "Do you understand?"

Maybe the shake works because her eyes seem to regain some of their focus as she stares at me in terror. Slowly, I take my hand away from her face, ready to slam it back down in an instant if I have to. I can see the tears welling up in her wide eyes as she stares at me in horror.

"You're dead." She whispers this, as if she is afraid to speak it aloud.

"Snap out of it, Leese. You can see with your own eyes that I'm here. I'm not dead." I hold her tightly against me and she makes no move to struggle, for the moment.

"Oh my god, you're…you're really here?" I can feel my body go stiff as her hand reaches up and touches my face. My god, what is she doing? My heart is pounding so hard against my chest, surely she hears it.

"Leese…." I whisper her name, my voice going hoarse as I feel her fingertips on my cheek. A deadly lethargy has settled over me and I can feel her body pressed tightly to mine. I want to stop, I want to shove her away from me, I want to feel that rage again, that terrible black rage, but it's not there. I can't stop myself now. I lower my head toward hers, unable to do anything else. She presses against me, and I can feel her heart beating wildly in time with mine. Just before our lips meet, a terrible realization comes into her eyes and she gives me a violent shove backward. I stumble, falling against the door, the handle jabbing painfully into my side and, suddenly, the rage is there.

Lisa darts past me to the door, but I grab her arm and give it a vicious yank backward. Applying my full body weight, I throw her to the floor. She lands hard and I can hear the breath leaving her body in a whooshing sound as she lands. She writhes on the floor, gasping, clawing at her throat. I slam the door shut behind me, then I walk around her body and, reaching down, I grasp her by the hair and drag her to her feet. She's still struggling for air as I propel her toward the bed and fling her down upon it.

We're both breathing hard as I climb atop her on the bed. Leaning down I grasp her wrists and pin them above her head.

"I didn't come here to hurt you, Lisa." I can hear how harsh my voice is as I struggle to hold my rage in check. I've never known you could feel this way about someone. I want her so much it's like an actual physical pain, but she enrages me to the point that I just want to strangle the life out of her. God, I need her and I hate her all at the same fucking time.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice is still a whisper and tears are spilling down her cheeks.

I lean closer to her. Our breath intermingles and our faces are nearly touching. "I've come to claim what's mine, Lisa. I've come for _you._"


	3. Chapter 3

"What's yours?" Her voice is incredulous, her eyes wide as she stares at me. Our faces are still so close. "I'm not _yours_, Jackson. I don't know what kind of sick fantasy world you're living in, but…"

Red clouds my vision as rage bursts in my chest and before I even realize what's happening my hands are around her throat. Her body twists and writhes beneath me as she claws at my hands, trying to loosen my grip. Her struggles only infuriate me more. I raise her up bodily and slam her back down on the bed. I watch her face turn red, then white. I want to kill her. I want to take that look off her face. That look of disgust. Her struggles slow and I release her. I swing my leg over her body and stand beside the bed, looking down at her as she gasps and coughs.

I lean down so that my face is, once more, inches from hers. "That's right, Leese, you're mine. Body and soul. Till death do us part. From this day forward."

Lisa tries to drag herself away from me, but she's still weak from lack of air. I grasp her by her upper arms and haul her up against me. She struggles against me, but she's unable to break my hold on her. "Let me go," she croaks in between coughs.

"That's not a request I'm willing to comply with and Daddy's not here to put another bullet in me, so you're on your own this time." I release her and she falls back onto the bed. She quickly scrambles up against the headboard and away from me. Her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. "Don't try it. You can't get to the door without going through me first."

"I don't know why you're here…" She begins.

"Bullshit!" I practically scream at her. "You know exactly why I'm here, Lisa. Don't fucking lie to me. You got that? You _knew_ I was coming, didn't you?" I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from encircling her throat again.

"How could I know that, Jackson? Please, I don't know what's happening to you, but it's got nothing to do with me. Just let me go, okay? I won't call the police, I won't tell anyone if you'll just go away now and leave me alone."

I clench my fists and struggle to hold on to my temper, to hold in the rage that threatens to consume us both. Why does she push me like this? How can she get to me like this?

"You know exactly what I'm talking about Lisa." I make my voice soft and deadly calm. "Ever since the flight there's been some kind of connection between us. I feel it and you feel it too, only you're still pretending that it doesn't exist. Stop playing games. It's getting you nowhere. What, you think I'm going to just let you go now? That's not gonna happen, Leese. Like I said; till death. Yours or mine, it makes no difference to me."

She inches away from me on the bed, her eyes darting about the room, seeking escape. Or a weapon. Shit! I should have swept the room for weapons before she got here. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Jackson, you're not making any sense. Maybe you felt a connection to me because you watched me for so long before the flight. There is no connection here. We're just two people who were in a bad situation. We don't have to be enemies, Jackson. M…maybe I can help you? Let me call Emergency Response and get someone for you to talk to." Her voice is soft, reasonable. She's still moving away from me.

"Don't fucking patronize me!" I take a step toward her and she stands on the other side of the bed, her eyes wide and fearful as she watches me. "We know things about each other; things we shouldn't know, things we have no way of knowing. You know it's true! I saw your dad die, Lisa. I saw it as if I were standing right there. I watched you run to him and both of you fall to the floor. I know about the shrink and her thoughts on Stockholm's Syndrome." I advance toward her around the bed, my voice deliberately low and menacing. "I know you dreamed about me last night, Lisa. You were back in the airplane bathroom with me and my hands were around your throat, but this time I wasn't choking you was I? This time I reached down with my other hand and I lifted up your skirt. I pushed it up your thigh and….."

"Stop it!" She shrieks at me, her hands coming up to cover her ears as if she is a child defying her parent by refusing to listen. I take several strides quickly, covering the distance between us and grasp her arms. I pull her against me as she beats at me with her fists, screaming. I shove her back onto the bed and climb on top of her, grasping her arms and pinning them above her head again. "No! Jackson, stop it, please stop!"

I ignore her pleas. My body is reacting to her struggles and I can tell when she realizes it because she suddenly stills beneath me. Her chest heaves as she struggles to breathe and her cheeks are flushed. "Jackson, please don't do this. Please god, don't do this, you don't want to do this to me."

"Don't I? I think I do, Lisa. I think I want to very much." I grind my hips into hers, letting her feel exactly how much I want to do this.

Her voice becomes higher, more desperate. "Please, Jackson, I'll do whatever you say, please just stop now. Stop this before you go too far."

"Tell me you feel the connection, Lisa." I begin to kiss her, my lips exploring her soft neck. She shudders beneath me and begins to struggle again.

"No, please…"

"This is going to happen, Lisa. It's inevitable. You know it and I know it. Tell me you feel the connection. Tell me, Lisa. You can make this stop. All you have to do is tell me the truth."

"Okay, okay, whatever you say! Please, please just stop…" She's sobbing now and suddenly my anger evaporates leaving me cold and empty. My breath leaves my body in a ragged sigh as I lift my face from her neck. I climb off her and stand beside the bed. Lisa turns on her side and curls into a fetal position, her shoulders shaking as she sobs. Jackson Rippner, murderer, sociopath, terrorist for hire and now, would-be rapist. That's quite a resume I tell myself as I step back.

"Leese..." I run my hand through my hair in frustration. I sit down on the bed beside her. She slides away from me into a sitting position against the headboard. Her face is red and puffy and I look away.

"Please go away. Haven't you done enough?" Her voice is soft, pleading.

Clenching my jaw, I turn to face her. "I can't. I don't know what's happening here, Lisa, but something _has_ happened. It's been four years since the flight. Tell me why I know these things about you. I was in Afghanistan when your dad died, Leese. How could I know about that? I know that you saw a shrink. Sure, that's easy to figure out, but how could I know that you walked out of her office the minute she suggested you were showing signs of Stockholm's Syndrome? Tell me, Leese! How could I know that you've been dreaming about me? How do I know these things?"

"You've b..been following me…you have connections, I'm sure, you can find out these things,"

"That's bullshit and you know it!" I glare at her, willing her to listen, to understand. "Okay, Leese, let's say I found out these things just by following you around for the past four years. So, we've explained how I know things about you. But how do you explain what you know about me?"

"You're wrong, Jackson. I don't know anything about you." She shakes her head as she speaks and I can see the lie in her eyes.

"Your lying skills haven't improved at all in four years."

"I'm not lying! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Is that what it is?" I say it slowly, deliberately. I watch her shoulders shake as a shudder goes through her body.

"Please just go away."

"Okay. I'll go. For now. But remember, Leese, I'm still around. When you're ready to face the truth, call me. I believe you already have my number."

As I leave, I briefly wonder if she'll call the police, then I discard the thought completely. She won't. I smile at the thought.


	4. Chapter 4

_Was it all my imagination? No, it couldn't be! I saw it with my own eyes! Maybe I'm wrong and Lisa doesn't feel it at all. No, that can't be right. I know she feels it too. She has to. What is it, then? Why her? Why me? Maybe I should just go. No, I can't do that. I can't leave. Why can't I leave? Because if I do, she'll just pull me back. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I going insane? God, I want her. I hate her. I have to have her. She doesn't want me. That doesn't matter. This is out of control! I've got to get control. Get this under control. Get myself under control. Pull it together, Rippner. Hold it together. _

I've been sitting here on this rock for what seems like hours, though I'm sure it hasn't been longer than an hour at the most. My thoughts whirl around in my head, fragmented and incomplete. The moonlight is reflected on the water as it washes in, then back out.

Eventually, I begin to feel calm again. The ocean has always been my haven, a place of peace for me. I grew up here, in Miami. I've always taken solace in the sounds of the ocean. The constant sighing of the waves as they wash in and retreat, the cry of the gulls in the distance. I ran here whenever I needed to get away, which was often when I was young.

I was born Theodore Jackson Brooks. My mother named me after her two grandfathers. I remember her laughing; telling me my name was bigger than I was. She called me Tee Jay most of the time, but when I was sick, I was her Teddy. My lips twist into a wry smile at the memory. I suppose most people would have trouble imagining me as a little boy at all, let alone imagining that I had a mother who called me something as endearing as 'Teddy'. Well, that was a _very_ long time ago.

When I was six, my mother was in an accident. Nearly every bone in her body was broken and her recovery was slow and excruciatingly painful. She became addicted to pain medication. A year after the accident, she was still suffering from short term memory loss and she couldn't walk without the support of a cane or a walker. She was depressed and her abuse of pain medication grew worse, accompanied by alcohol. It was around this time that she met Tony.

Tony was a short, dark man with an even shorter fuse. Before three months were gone, he'd moved in with Mom and me. I hated him from the instant I met him and I'm fairly certain the feeling was mutual. He barely addressed me, other than to call me "kid" and order me to get him a beer or something. Thanks to Tony, my mother progressed from pain medication to harder, more dangerous drugs. My story is fairly typical, I suppose. Tony soon became abusive physically as well as verbally. Their fights were terrible and I remember being so scared and hating myself for being such a coward. If I were a real man, like I should be, I would save my mom from Tony, but I couldn't. Not that I didn't try.

I was nearly nine years old when I decided to make my stand. I remember it like it was yesterday. My mom and Tony were having another one of their fights. I was headed out the back door, on my way to the beach, where I usually went when their fighting got too bad, when I heard something that made me stop, dead in my tracks. Tony had just hit my mother and I heard her hit the floor with a cry. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. What I heard next, though, chilled me all the way through to the bone.

"You know, I could kill you right now, you little bitch and no one could stop me, you know that?" Tony's voice drifted to me through the kitchen door. It wasn't necessarily the words themselves that got me; it was the contemplative tone he used. Almost conversationally, as if it were an idea he was turning over in his head. My mother was weeping on the floor, babbling incoherently. I turned and walked softly back to the kitchen, careful not to make any noise. I peered around the corner cautiously and saw Tony standing over my mom, his hands on his hips, a thoughtful look on his face as he gazed down at her.

I've always been small for my age with a slight frame and pale skin. I had never been so scared in my life. I stood there watching him with that, calm, contemplative look on his face and I knew I had to do something. Everything in me screamed at me to run, to just turn and run and never look back, but just then, my mother looked up and saw me standing there in the doorway. Her beautiful blue eyes locked on mine and she whispered, "Teddy…"

Tony whirled around to see me standing there. My hands were shaking so hard I knew he would see them, so I clenched them into fists and tried to make myself look as big and menacing as possible. I glared at him, daring him to touch me and, to my credit, he actually took a step backward before he recovered himself. Up until that day, Tony had never so much as touched me. Mainly because I stayed out of his way as much as possible, I'm sure, but today I saw the promise in his black eyes.

"You wanna say somethin' to me, kid? You got somethin' you wanna say?" He advanced toward me and I wanted to run. My heart was beating wildly and I was the most terrified I'd ever been in my life.

"Yeah, I got something to say to you. Leave my mother alone, you fucking prick or I'll kill you." My voice came out steady and I was surprised.

Tony grinned, then, as if that were exactly what he'd been hoping for. "You're gonna kill me, huh? You better do it now, kid, or you're never gonna do it." He stopped and reached into a drawer, pulling out a large knife. He tossed it to me and it clattered to the floor at my feet. I looked down at it, suddenly unsure. It laid there, its dull metal glinting in contrast to the cheap linoleum. I glanced up at Tony, who stood there watching me, his arms folded across his chest. "Well, you gonna pick it up you little coward? Now's your chance, kid. What are you waiting for?"

I bent down and picked up the knife. The plastic handle was cool against my sweaty palm and I wondered if I could even keep hold of it. I looked back at Tony and he remained in the same position, arms folded, regarding me with contempt. My gaze shifted to my mother as she lay on the floor sobbing. Blood was running from her nose and one corner of her mouth and her right eye was already beginning to swell and turn black. I clenched my jaw and shifted the knife so that I had a good grip on it, then I went for Tony.

Everything happened fast after that. I fought like I was possessed, but he was bigger and stronger and I never really had a chance. He wrested the knife from my grasp and I never managed to put so much as a nick on him that day. Once the knife was out of my hands, he proceeded to beat me to within an inch of my life. I ended up with four broken ribs, a broken wrist, both eyes blackened, a broken nose and a dislocated jaw. But that's not the worst of it. When he had beaten me to the point that I was too weak to fight back at all, he went back and got the knife. I will never forget what he said to me then. He looked down at me as I lay there, bleeding and broken. "Now, I'm going to teach you to never make a threat you can't follow through on."

It was a lesson I learned well. Things changed from that day on in my house. The weeks dragged on and I spent less and less time at home, avoiding Tony as much as I could. Outwardly, I was impassive and quiet. Tony was smugly convinced that I'd learned my lesson and I didn't give any signs that I hadn't. Inwardly, however, my rage against him seethed and grew.

Eventually, I made good on my threat to kill him. I was seventeen and I came home one afternoon to find Tony asleep in his ratty recliner, the TV chattering uselessly in front of him. I walked past him and down the hall, glancing into the bedroom. My mother was sprawled across the bed in a drug and booze induced stupor, her cadaverous frame barely covered by her tattered housedress. I stood there, gazing at her for a long moment. Her hair had become thin and wispy; most of it was turning a dull gray now. Her face was lined and far too old. I closed my eyes and saw her as she used to be, before the accident and the drugs. Before Tony. I saw her long, thick black hair, her flawless, almost translucent skin, her clear blue eyes surrounded by thick, long lashes. I bid that image of her goodbye forever. I think that's the moment I became the person I am right now.

I went back to the living room, only stopping in my room for a second to retrieve the knife I'd been keeping. Saving for a special occasion, if you will. I stood over him, knife in hand for a long moment. Then I leaned down and whispered," Wake up, you bastard. I want you to see what's coming now."

His eyes opened and he glared at me in confusion. Then he saw the knife and I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes before he pushed himself up out of the chair. I stepped back, allowing him to get up. "You back for more, coward? I guess I didn't teach you that lesson well enough the first time."

"Oh, I learned that lesson, you prick. I learned it better than you think." I lunged at him, then.

I killed Tony that day. My mother was so out of it, she never woke up, not even when he began screaming. I left home, afterward and never looked back. I had learned my lesson very well, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

I am pulled back into the present by a soft sound behind me. I don't need to turn to know it's Lisa. We remain that way for several minutes, me sitting on a cold rock gazing out at the churning waves, she standing behind me, arms crossed over her chest protectively. When she speaks, finally, her voice is soft but firm.

"I want you out of my life, Jackson. You told me you didn't ask for this. Well, neither did I. What's it going to take to make that happen? What can I do to convince you to leave me alone once and for all?"

I still don't turn as I answer her. "It's not that simple. You _called_ me, Lisa. You may not even realize it, but you did. I don't know what's happened to us, but somehow our wires got crossed and I don't know how to untangle them. If you've got any ideas, I'm more than happy to hear them because I sure as hell can't come up with anything. God knows I've tried."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Her voice is higher, frustrated, bordering on desperation. "This doesn't happen, it's just not possible!"

A sigh escapes me as I stand and turn to face her. "Obviously it _is_ happening. Denying it doesn't change it."

She shakes her head vehemently. "I won't accept it. I won't just lie down and accept that I'm now somehow ..._connected_ to _you_ of all people."

Just like that my anger is back, clenching my fists and flooding my face with heat. I look away from her and try to recapture the calm I had felt as I looked out over the sea. It takes a good minute, but at last I turn back to her and slowly unclench my fists. "I don't think we're as different as you think we are, Lisa. In fact, I believe it's quite the opposite. We're more alike than you're willing to admit."

She stares at me, incredulous. "Alike? You think I'm like you? I'm _nothing_ like you. You're a murderer and a terrorist. You took me hostage and forced me to participate in your plan to murder a good and decent man. Not only that, but his children were with him! You were going to kill his _children_! How can you even _think_ that I'm like you?"

"You think you're above murder? Is that it, Lisa? What about Richard Best? What if he were right here in front of you and you had the means to end his miserable existence? Would you do it, Lisa? Could you take his life?"

I watch in satisfaction as her face goes chalk white. "How do you know that name?" Her voice is shaking and thick.

"Don't avoid the question. Does he deserve to live, Lisa? Would you allow him to continue to breathe the same air that you do?"

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment as if to block out an image. She shakes her head again before opening her eyes. "That's not the same thing. He's different. What he did to me, to all those other girls…" She whispers the words. "It's not the same." Her voice is a little more firm, now.

"No? Why, because he's 'evil' and Keefe is 'good'? You live your life in a glass house, Lisa. Wake up and open your eyes. There's no black and white. Not in this world. You think Keefe is such a good man? What about what he did to you? You think what he did was any better than Best?"

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but her face goes even whiter. Her mouth opens and her eyes are wide in disbelief. "W-what do you mean by that?"

"Cut the act, Lisa. I know what happened between you and Keefe."

Her eyes slide away from mine, turning to fix on the waves. Her face has gone from stark white to beet red. I can feel her mixture of anger, embarrassment and fear. "How can you know that? It happened long before you started stalking me."

Irritated at her term, I correct her. "It was surveillance, not stalking. And I know about it because he told me. It was all part of the plan."

She whips her head back to stare at me in shock. "What plan?"

"Why, the plan to assassinate himself, of course. What plan did you think I was referring to?" I smirk at her, watching the emotions cross her face as she realizes what I'm actually saying.

"You're lying."

Anger again. "I never lie, Leese. We've established that."

"That's not possible. Charles Keefe is a decent man; a _good_ man. He would never put his wife and children in danger like that. Besides, what motivation could he possibly have to do something like that?"

"That's the third thing tonight you've said is impossible, but the evidence to the contrary is right in front of you. Really, Leese, you've got to take off the rose colored glasses and have a good look around you. Keefe orchestrated the whole thing. Starting with a drunken one night stand with none other than Miss Lisa Reisert."

"You're wrong. He wouldn't do that. He's not like that…" Her voice is climbing, verging on outright hysteria.

"He really had you pegged right, didn't he? He knew you'd feel so guilty about your little affair that you'd do anything to save his family, even if you weren't inclined to save him. He used you, Leese."

"No, that's not how it happened. It was me, not him. I've always had a crush on him, even when I was still in college, before he ever became Chief of Homeland Security. He was staying at the Lux that night on business and when he came down for dinner, he looked so lonely that I offered to keep him company. We had drinks over dinner and I drank too much, I know. I don't know what had possessed me. I drank enough to calm my nerves and I seduced him. I knew he was lonely and I took advantage of that. He felt terrible about it in the morning and he blamed himself. He told me that he cared for me very much, but he loved his wife and had never been unfaithful to her before. I could see how guilty he felt! He said he had no choice but to tell his wife about us and ask her to forgive him, but I begged him not to. I couldn't let him ruin his marriage because I'd made a stupid drunken mistake! Not only that, he'd be ruining his entire career if the media ever found out. I wouldn't let him leave until he'd promised me he wouldn't tell his wife. So, you see? It was my fault, not his." Her words nearly run together they come out so fast. Her eyes are full and I see a single tear sliding down her cheek. I cross the distance between us and grasp her arms.

"Lisa, he planned it. He knew you had a crush on him. He's always known that and he used it to his advantage. You know that I'm telling you the truth. He manipulated you and your emotions. For once in your life, stop relying on your emotions and listen to the truth. Open your eyes."

"But, how? Both he and his family barely escaped with their lives. There's no way he could have planned something that well."

"It was close, yes, but it was very carefully orchestrated down to the very last detail and the last minute. It wouldn't have been believable otherwise."

Her brows draw together as she looks down and seems to realize for the first time that I'm holding onto her upper arms. I step back, releasing her.

"Why are you telling me this, Jackson? I don't understand any of this! All I want is my life back!"

"You can't have your life back. Not the way it was before, anyway. But if you're going to continue to live, Lisa, you'd better start seeing the world the way it really is and not how you want to see it. That's the only thing that's going to keep you alive."

"What do you mean?" Her tear-filled eyes stare into mine fearfully.

"What I mean is that I'm here to kill you, Lisa. Keefe sent me to finish up the job."

She takes a step backward, her eyes alarmed. I reach out and grab her arm before she can turn and run. I pull her toward me and I can see she's going to fight. "I'm not going to kill you, Leese."

"But you just said…" she begins as she tries to pull away from me.

"I know what I said and it's true. Keefe wants me to finish the job and take you out. You're the only person that could, conceivably, blow his cover."

"How could I? I didn't know anything until you just told…" Her eyes widen with some kind of comprehension and I know what she's thinking. "You're telling me because you're going to kill me. It doesn't matter what I know because I'll be dead, right?"

I can see the terror in her eyes, though she is trying hard to conceal it from me. "Lisa, look at me. Hear what I'm saying to you. Use the connection." I move my hand up to her face, then slowly raise the other one until I'm holding her face in both my hands. I lower my head to hers, pausing one instant before I touch my forehead to hers. I can feel the current between us flowing freely. It's frightening and exhilarating at the same time. It's almost as if our minds are crashing into each other, our thoughts indistinct from each others. She stiffens and stops struggling, frozen in the grip of this strange connection. I realize faintly that her hands are around my wrists, but she isn't pulling me away from her; she's holding onto me for support. I feel her breath on my face and calm descends on me, washing over us both.

I don't know how long we stand that way, but suddenly, Lisa pulls back. I open my eyes, not remembering having closed them. Lisa is staring at me, her eyes wide with, what? Incredulity? Shock? Wonder? Maybe all of those.

The silence is awkward as we stare at each other. I break the silence. "I'm not going to kill you, Leese."

"Then why…" her voice falters. She clears her throat ant tries again. "Then why are you here? You said you came because I 'called' you. Which is it?"

I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "It's both. Look, I can't explain it. All you need to know is that I'm not going to kill you."

I watch her shoulders relax, but only slightly. "Then what are you going to do?"

I pause a moment, gazing into her eyes intently. "I'm going to save you."


	6. Chapter 6

I hand Lisa the phone and she takes it, her hand surprisingly steady. My mind goes back to the beach for a moment.

"You're going to save me." It came out more as a statement than a question. I gazed at her, not answering. "None of this makes any sense. Charles wants me dead?"

Her voice cracked as she spoke that last sentence and I could hear her heart breaking with it. I wanted to comfort her, to somehow lessen the impact of all that I'd told her, but I couldn't give her that. It's just not in me, so I stood there, my eyes never leaving her face.

"Leese…" I don't know what I was going to say, but she held up a hand, stopping me from stumbling over my words. Slowly, she brought her gaze back to mine and I read the determination there. I was relieved.

"What do I need to do?" Her words were simple. Her decision had been made. She'd chosen to trust me. My chest tightened. Whether in anxiety or anticipation, I couldn't say. I held out my hand to her, silent. She never hesitated. I felt her hand in mine as we walked to my car, neither of us speaking.

Now I am seated across from her in her small kitchen. The phone is still in her hand and she is gazing at it, an odd expression on her face. I almost smile, now, because I know her mind is in the same place mine is. Her eyes shift to mine, then slide quickly away. Her fingers tighten on the phone as she sighs, then begins punching in a number. Her voice is quiet, not quite steady as she speaks.

"Charles? It's Lisa…look, I'm sorry to call you at this hour, but, well, it's important. You know I wouldn't call if it weren't." She listens and his voice is a soft buzz as he answers her, his words unintelligible to me. Her eyes find mine again, one second, two seconds, they slide away. "I need to see you."

There's a brief silence, then his voice is buzzing again, this time urgently. Lisa's fingers tighten on the phone, and her knuckles turn white.

"I understand that, but I'm scared, Charles. I saw him. He's following me again." She waits, the phone still held in a death grip in her hand. "Yes, I know that, but I know what I saw."

Lisa shifts in her seat, uncrossing her legs under the table, then crossing them again, impatiently as she listens to the buzzing. "I didn't go to the police because they won't believe me. I'm scared for both of us, Charles. You know how the investigation went four years ago. Before it was over, the FBI was eyeing _me_ suspiciously!" Silence, then a frustrated buzzing resumes.

"I know that! I would never contact you without good reason. You know me well enough to know that. I just… I need to see you. I'm just so worried about you. He almost killed you last time! What if he tries to force me to help him again? I can't…" The buzzing cuts into her sentence and she listens for a moment. Her eyes close and a single tear slides down her cheek. "Thank you. I'll talk to you soon." She presses the button on the phone to end the call and sets it on the table between us. She heaves a long sigh, then opens her eyes and looks at me.

"He's going to call you back when he's free." It is not a question. She nods, her eyes still locked on mine. There is no sign of tears despite that lone drop I observed before she hung up the phone. Her strength is nothing short of amazing. All those weeks of watching her never prepared me for that deep inner core of strength that she keeps buried inside her. I smile ruefully as my mind goes back to the red eye flight. Charles thought he had her pegged and, in a way, he did, but he was counting on her guilt being the motivating factor in her "rebellion" against me. I'm sure her guilt played a part, but it was her strength more than anything that kept her going.

"What?" Her voice breaks into my thoughts. She is looking at me, her eyes questioning and I realize I am still smiling as I gaze at her.

"I'm just thinking about how you kicked my ass last time I saw you." Her lips twitch and I can see that she wants to smile. A genuine smile pulls my lips back now. I hear a sharp intake of breath and all trace of a smile disappears from Lisa's face as she draws back. I tense instantly.

"What is it?" I ask, alert, as my eyes dart around the kitchen, searching for danger.

"It's… nothing…nothing's wrong…it's just that…" Her voice falters as I slowly relax again, my eyes coming back to hers. She's staring at me with an odd mixture of emotion in her eyes, her expression careful, guarded.

"Lisa, what's wrong?" My brows knit together and I lean toward her across the table.

She stares at me for a long moment before she speaks, her voice soft. "You're beautiful when you smile like that. It's… I mean…" She closes her eyes and takes a breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said…"

I stare at her intently, emotions warring inside me. Desire, anger, irritation; suddenly it's too much. I stand up and quickly close the distance between us. I grasp her by her arms and haul her to her feet, pulling her roughly against me. Our lips meet and it's as if we've both lived for this moment. Shock quickly dissipates, leaving us breathless as our hands explore each other, impatiently. Her hands grasp my shirt and pull it out of my pants at the same time that I reach for the buttons on her blouse but my fingers are clumsy, unable, for once, to obey my commands. With a low growl of frustration, I grasp the sides of her blouse and pull outward, the buttons popping off with a satisfying sound as they hit the floor. She draws back momentarily, her eyes colliding with mine before she entangles her hands in my hair, pulling me back down to her mouth. I push the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, then I lift her up in my arms, our lips and tongues still entangled, and carry her to the bedroom.

I knew, with Lisa, that even this moment would prove to be a contest of wills between us and she doesn't disappoint me. When it is over, we both lie breathless and exhausted in her bed. I roll over onto my side, placing one hand under my head. With the other, I reach out and brush a moist tendril of hair away from Lisa's forehead as she lays there, naked and beautiful. She turns her head and looks at me, her eyes serious and I smile at her. After a moment she grins back, her dimples standing out. Before I realize what's happening, we're both laughing and it feels surprisingly good after all the tension. I know what she's thinking. After all we've been through, everything that's happened between us, how on earth did we end up _here_ of all places? In bed! Talk about sleeping with the enemy!

God this is all so impossible! It's almost surreal to me. I haven't laughed like that in years. In my line of work, there's precious little to laugh about. We both know it's just a release, but it feels good nonetheless. I'm still smiling like a schoolboy when she reaches for me again. This time there's less urgency and we take our time, exploring, satisfying each other and ourselves.

We've barely had time to recuperate from the second round when the phone rings. Lisa grabs it before it can ring again and I listen as she makes plans to meet with Charles. She hangs up the phone and turns back to me and I see that strength again in her eyes.

"Tomorrow evening. He'll be at the Lux under a pseudonym."

I nod and relax against the pillows. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, my hands clasped behind my head. Lisa and I have a lot to talk about, but we have time. I glance at her, and find she's watching me, her face inscrutable. I unclasp my hands and hold one arm out, my eyebrows raised, waiting. She hesitates only a moment before she slides closer to me, laying her head on my shoulder. I pull her even closer, breathing in her scent as I drift to sleep.


End file.
